


Things Get Worse (and worse, and worse, and worse)

by terribleshipsandsadshit



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Author is trans, Depression, Homophobia, M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Trans Male Character, Trans Will Graham, Transphobia, im sad and trans baby it goes hand in hand, just enjoy my depressing self-indulgent trash, yeah i fucking know hannibal's a murderer but listen we don't need to talk about it yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-05 18:26:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18834235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terribleshipsandsadshit/pseuds/terribleshipsandsadshit
Summary: Time does not heal all. Will Graham knows this - he can't fucking forget it.Will feels too old to still be this sick.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi I'm trans and sad and also i fucking LOVE will graham so here's a sad trans 35 year old will graham who still has mental issues because that shit don't go away babey
> 
>  
> 
> edit: i recently made a tumblr for my fanfics go follow it its myfavsaretrans and ill write your prompts

Will was 15.  
He was 15 and he was still Willow, still daddy’s girl with dirty hands and his hair tied back tight, still moving from place to place, from school to school, still always _that weird new kid_. 15 with scars on his thighs because he was just so fucking _angry_ all the time, 15 and could barely drag himself out of bed in the mornings, 15 standing in the bathroom crying, 15 and full of passive suicidal ideation, 15 starving himself because he doesn’t know how to feel better.  
“I don’t know how to help you, kid,” his dad had said, throat tight as he kneeled by his daughter’s (no, his _son’s_ ) bed. “I don’t know how to do this.” Will didn’t answer. He just stared at the wall.  
Will was 15 and it was Friday and his dad was at work and he felt impulsive so he grabbed the kitchen scissors, hacked off all his hair, and threw it in the trash.  
“Please call me Will.” he said quietly, staring down at his plate. His dad stopped eating.  
“What?”  
“I w-want to go by William. By Will.”  
He knows he was lucky. His dad was never mean, never cruel to him. He knew kids at school who would be beaten for this, killed for this. His dad didn’t hit him or tell him to pack his shit and get the fuck out – his dad leveled him with a firm look, set down his fork, and asked, “Will this make you happy?”  
Will’s eyes burned. He ran a hand through his short hair, suddenly crying. Why was he crying?  
_This. Will this make you happy?_  
“Yeah,” he whispered, “I think so.”  
And when they moved again – when they ended up in Louisiana, for _good_ this time – he was William.  
\----------------  
“Will? Have I lost you again?” Hannibal sits across from him. It’s Tuesday.  
“Sorry. Thinking.”  
“As we all do, from time to time.”  
Will sighed, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair, tired and weary.  
“I take it that these thoughts are not to be shared?”  
“I don’t – I just. You see me.”  
“I do. And I will continue to see you. I have never seen anything but.” Hannibal is firm, earnest.  
_I see you._  
“Did I ever tell you about, about my, uh, my childhood?”  
“To some extent. You told me that you and your father moved around frequently.”  
“I used to not even be able to get out of bed.” Will said suddenly. “I never thought…I never thought that I would live this long. Fuck, I didn’t even think I’d make it to 18, let alone my 30’s.”  
“You were depressed.” It’s not a question.  
“Yeah.” Will swallowed hard, uncomfortable with this part of his life still – still, despite it being nearly 20 years behind him.  
“Was your depression a result of you being transgender, or was it separate?”  
And of course Hannibal knew. Hannibal always knew. Will wondered what gave him away – was it the perpetually bad posture from years of binding? (When he finally got surgery, it felt like he could stand up straight for the first time in years. Sometimes he forgets that he doesn’t have to slouch anymore.) Or maybe the occasional insecurity about his masculinity, the way he clung to boat motors and old screwdrivers and dirty fingernails and his dogs, his flannels, the little things he did to make sure he seemed like a _man_. Or maybe – maybe it was just in his file. He refused to believe that Hannibal… _clocked_ him based off of mannerisms and appearance alone.  
“Was that in my file?” Will asked dryly, a hint of nervousness in his voice.  
“Among other things. I dislike finding out so much about someone from an…unorganized stack of papers shoved in a manila folder – it’s always felt like cheating, to me. But I’m afraid, with the reason you were brought to me in the first place, reading your file was a necessity. I apologize. I know it can feel…invasive.”  
Will snorted.  
“Honestly, I’m glad. I would’ve left feeling pretty shitty if you told me that you looked at me and just _knew_.”  
“Is that something that worries you?” Hannibal tilted his head, examining Will.  
“What, being outed?”  
“I’m not sure if that’s the word I’d use. Do you worry that you still do not look like other men? That people can “tell”?”  
Will thought about his last “hookup” – _Fucking knew it the second I saw that pretty face, knew you were one of those little cuntboy faggots._ \- it had been at least a year ago. He’d kicked the guy out before it had even started.  
“Wouldn’t you worry, too, if you were like me?” Will asked.  
“What are you like, Will?” Hannibal was leaning forward now, elbows braced on his knees, fingers interlaced.  
“Disgusting.” he spat, standing up abruptly. “Our time’s up.”  
\----------------  
_It could be worse_ , Will thought as he sat by his fireplace later, blood seeping through the gauze wrapped around his calf, Winston’s head in his lap. He knows he was lucky.  
He started testosterone at 16 and a half. God, he was 16 and transgender in the fucking deep South, it’s a miracle he didn’t get raped or killed. His dad was uncomfortable – didn’t really understand, but he wasn’t abusive. Didn’t hit him, and always, always did his best to call him Will or William. _He knows he was lucky._  
But it doesn’t make it better. It doesn’t get rid of years and years of lingering insecurity, doesn’t make him a normal height (fucking 5’6, really?), doesn’t help the fact that he still gets called “honey” and “kiddo” if he shaves, doesn’t make up for losing his entire adolescence to a sickness that won’t ever go away. It doesn’t make it easier. He’s still got a pile of baggage and the scars from two suicide attempts to match. (Will doesn’t wear shorts or t-shirts. Old habits die hard. His job is too much, sometimes.)  
So, yes, it could be worse – but it still hurts. It hurts, and it hurts, and it hurts.  
\----------------  
“You okay?” Beverly asked, frowning.  
“Fine.” Will snapped, scribbling in the margins of a particularly awful essay. “Is there something you need, Beverly?”  
“I just – you’ve seemed even grumpier lately, which I, for one, didn’t think was possible.”  
It was silent. Will threw the essay on top of the stack to his left ( _C-. At least use spellcheck._ ) and grabbed one from the right stack.  
“Will?”  
He looked up, annoyed.  
“I’ve seemed grumpier. Okay. Is there an “and”, or is that all?”  
“You don’t have to be such an asshole. I just wanted you to know that I’m here if you need to talk.”  
“Great. Thanks.” he said flatly.  
Beverly left with a sigh, shutting the door on the way out. Will slouched back in his chair the moment the door closed, hands over his face. Why the fuck was he so _mean_? He didn’t mind Beverly, liked her, even. He just – everything felt strung too tightly, and he didn’t mean to snap, but sometimes what comes out of his mouth isn’t what he meant to say, what he wanted to say. He doesn’t mean to be rude. It just…tumbles out.  
Will looked at the essay in front of him. They hadn’t even done the header in MLA.  
\----------------  
Tuesday again. He sits across from Hannibal, scowling.  
“You seem on edge, Will.”  
“That’s what everyone’s been saying lately.”  
“Have you been depressed?” Hannibal asked, frowning.  
“I’m always depressed.” Will laughed bitterly.  
“Have you been cutting?”  
Will didn’t know _that_ was in his file. It makes sense. He’s been hospitalized twice.  
“No.” Will lied.  
“Would you tell me, if you had been?”  
Will hesitated for a moment.  
“No. Probably not.”  
“I’m not going to ship you off to inpatient, Will. I trust you. I want you to trust me too.” Hannibal leaned forward, eyes soft. “You can always call me. Know that.”  
“Okay.” Will said quietly. He didn’t like talking about this. It made him uncomfortable, nauseous. This was _his_ , had been since he was 13. He didn’t know what Hannibal expected him to say. At this point, it was too late to get better – too late to be healthy, and happy, and well-adjusted.  
He still couldn’t find men’s clothes that fit him right.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will gets called in to consult on a case. He slips back into old habits, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys heres another chapter i wrote it while rewatching season 1

Another nightmare.  
_Hobbs stood, chest soaked in blood, wheezing. His eyes rolled back in his head horribly and his mouth gaped open._  
_"See, Will?" he whispered._  
_And then - and then Hobbs leaned forward, smirking._  
_"But that's not your name, is it?"_  
_"Is it, Willow?"_  
_He grinned, running a hand across his bleeding chest thoughtfully._  
_"You shoot like a girl, you know that? Terrible aim. You needed, what, 10 bullets to put me down? Jesus, Willow, I know they let women join the FBI now, but can't they at least teach them how to shoot?"_  
Will gasped awake, clutching his chest. He ran a panicked hand through his hair ( _shortshortshort light not heavy like it used to be, not tied back_ ) and over his chest ( _still flat_ ) relieved. His sternum ached.

"3 to 5 pages, due next Wednesday. Please at least make an attempt at proofreading." Will said flatly, pushing his glasses up with a finger. The students filed out slowly as Will shoved papers into his bag, a low murmur filling the classroom for a moment before it fell silent, leaving him empty and alone. He glanced at the door - closed - uncomfortably, before reaching into his pants and quickly readjusting his packer, face flushing. It still felt embarrassing, sometimes, to have a...something _fake_ in his pants. The doorknob turned just as he was finishing doing up his belt and Jack strolled in, hands tucked into his pockets.  
"Will. How was class?"  
Will looked to the side awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.  
"Fine. Same as always. I think some of them were offended by my comments on their essays."  
Jack snorted.  
"You here for a reason, Jack?" he asked, bag hanging heavily on his shoulder, weighing him down.  
"We've got something." 

She was splayed on her back, arms and legs secured to the bedposts with leather cuffs, a gag shoved into her red-lipstick mouth, throat cut and gaping. Deep red pooled between her legs, sticky and dried.  
"She was transgender." Jack said, watching Will carefully. "Cleaning lady found her this morning."  
Will grimaced, examining the body.  
"He cut off her...you know." Beverly gestured to the red pool. "Was done pretty sloppily. I think she was alive when he did it. Then he slit her throat."  
Nausea pooled in his stomach.  
"We didn't want to...have to bring you in on this one, but this is the third. And we've got no leads." Jack cleared his throat awkwardly.  
Will was silent for a moment.  
"He was...disgusted. He thinks it's disrespectful to...to _play_ at being a woman. He was punishing her. He lured her in under the guise of a hookup, probably online - he wouldn't do it in public. Wouldn't want to be seen with someone like _her_."  
Will swallowed hard, throat tight. 

"Will?" Jack knocked on his car window, forehead knit together.  
Will rolled down the window reluctantly.  
"Yes. What."  
"I think you should go see Dr. Lecter. When we get back."  
"It's Friday. We meet on Tuesdays." Will said, staring straight forward.  
"Will." Jack's voice was hard, unrelenting.  
"Fine. Fine, I'll go. Call him and tell him I'm coming." he snapped. 

"Jack told me about our newest killer."  
Will paced around the office. Didn't respond.  
"It must have felt very uncomfortable to see this much hatred directed at her, for simply being herself." Hannibal mused, sketching absently at his desk. He knew it made Will feel better if he wasn't completely focused on him, if he was writing or drawing while they talked.  
"It's..." Will trailed off, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall, frowning.  
Hannibal's pencil danced across the page, soft scratching filling the silence.  
"I could _feel_ how much he hated her, how vile he thought she was. He thought she was an...abomination."  
"Has anyone ever called you that, Will?"  
_"I can't fucking wait to get my mouth on you, so goddamn cute, fuck."_  
_Will was pressed against the wall, panting. He tried to pull away - but there was nowhere to go._  
_"Uh, about that...there's something I didn't -" he started, but the man was already on his knees, yanking Will's pants down insistently before reaching into his briefs, and -_  
_"What the fuck?" Disgust._  
_"Are you a fucking girl?" he asked, standing up and stepping backwards._  
"Not in those exact terms." Will said stiffly.  
"In what terms, then?"  
_The pharmacist stared at him as he handed him the bag, eyes narrowed._  
"People have...made their feelings quite clear, at times."  
Hannibal hummed, pencil still scratching.  
"You have grown used to it by now." Hannibal observed.  
"Doesn't make it less shitty." Will snapped, mostly to himself.  
"I do not imagine it would. Pain does not cease to be painful simply because it is familiar."  
"This killer considered her to be a liar. A _fake."_ Will spat.  
"Do you feel like a fake, Will?" 

Water ran down Will's face, his eyes squeezed shut. His shoulders were pulled taut, muscles locking up painfully. It felt like he was 19, like he was still forcing himself into a binder every day just so he could breathe. His scars were pink and faded by now. His back still ached, sometimes. He dug his fingers into his tense shoulders, kneading harshly. His razor sat on the tile shelf, old and dull. Blood ran down his left leg.

"How's it going with Hannibal?" Alana asked, perched on the edge of his desk. Will leaned back in his chair with a sigh.  
"He asks me a lot of questions."  
"It's kind of his job."  
"Yeah, well. I don't like questions." Will said stiffly. "He likes relating everything back to me. 'How does that make you feel, Will?', 'Has that ever happened to you, Will?'."  
He rolled his eyes, annoyed.  
"Maybe it'll be good for you to answer some questions." Alana said, one eyebrow quirked.  
"Maybe." Will snorted. 

Will felt himself slipping again. He didn't want to eat breakfast. He just didn't want to. His face looked chubby in the mirror that morning, and he felt fat, and he didn't deserve to eat anyways because he was disgusting.  
_This was bad._  
He felt 15 again. He felt sick. The woman's blood pooled between her legs. She'd screamed so loudly when he pulled out the knife. He couldn't eat, he just couldn't do it. Will fed the dogs and left for work. 

Tuesday. Will's leg bounced anxiously.  
"How have you been, Will?"  
"Fine." Will said, teeth gritted.  
"Any new leads?"  
"No. The body was completely clean. Nothing to go off of."  
"Having any nightmares?" Hannibal asked, lacing his fingers together.  
_That's not really your name, is it?_  
"Not really."  
Will shifted in his chair uncomfortably.  
"You're looking a little pale, Will. How have you been sleeping? Eating?"  
"I've been sleeping fine." he said, looking sideways.  
"And eating?"  
Will hesitated for a moment.  
"Will?"  
"I just feel disgusting." Will said suddenly, angrily.  
"What about you is disgusting?"  
"God, _look_ at me." he snapped.  
"I am looking, Will."  
Will scowled.  
"I think you're very self-loathing. Self-destructive. You've had these habits since you were very young, and they are difficult to let go of." Hannibal said calmly.  
"I'm not self-destructive."  
"Will."  
"Why does it even matter?" Will snapped.  
Hannibal was quiet for a moment, considering.  
"I've been mentally ill for my entire life, Dr. Lecter. I haven't bled out in my bathtub yet. I think I'll be fine." 

Will sat in the bathtub later that night, water up to his now-flat chest, clear and warm. He held his razor up to his wrist and pressed in lightly, considering.  
He had papers to grade tomorrow.  
He could see his arms torn open, the bathwater going red. Could see Jack sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, Alana's mouth set in a firm line. Hannibal - what would Hannibal do? He pressed in harder.  
He had papers to grade tomorrow.  
He should probably call his dad.  
He set the razor down.  
He had papers to grade tomorrow. 

Will laid back, head pressed against the ceramic of his bathtub.  
_Not tonight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoyed guys lol


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ripper leaves Will a gift. Jack's fear of a Miriam Lass repeat gets to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooOOOOooOoOOOO look at all this PLOT. so much plot. hope u like.

The papers got graded. They always did. Will drained the bath, dried himself off, bandaged himself up - and another Tuesday night bled into another Wednesday morning. He fed the dogs and himself, even. Last night was enough for him; it was _close_ enough to the real thing to curb his hunger for self-destruction.   
Jack texted him as he was leaving the house.   
_New body. Same hotel. Be there as soon as you can._  
Will started the car, shoulders slumped. He didn't want to do this today. The hunger returned. 

"It's...uh, it's him." Will said.   
"This is our guy?" Jack raised an eyebrow.   
He was cuffed and gagged the same way his last victim had been, wrists mottled and skin yellowed.   
"Penis was cut off, much more neatly than the last body. Weird incisions under the pectorals...don't know why whoever did this made them." Beverly said, brow furrowed.   
"A mock double mastectomy." Will said dryly. "This...it was meant to humiliate him."   
"There's - and this is weird - organs missing. Liver and kidneys. Neat, surgical precision. Almost like -"  
"Like the Ripper." Will said, the realization dawning on him.   
"You think the Ripper killed our guy? Why would he do our job for us? Why this guy? The Ripper isn't some sort of vigilante." Jack examined the body, eyes narrowed.  
"Hey, I got something else." Price had his tweezers deep in the man's throat. He pulled out a bright pink flower, damp and wilting. Beverly squinted at it, lifting up a petal with a gloved finger.   
"Is that-"   
"Dianthus barbatus? Yeah, I...I think so." Price said, voice dropping off. He turned to look at Will, appalled.   
Will's mouth suddenly felt dry.   
"What does that mean? Why is that bad?" Jack demanded. Beverly looked at Will uncomfortably, eyes crinkled and worried.  
"The more common name for Dianthus barbatus is -" she started.   
"Sweet william." Will cut her off, voice cracking. 

Jack's office was unnerving. Will didn't like sitting across from him like this, with Jack staring at him, fingers knit together and mouth set in a hard line.   
"How could the Ripper know you're transgender?"   
Will gritted his teeth.   
"I'm 35 and I still look 22. I'm 5'6. Name changes are a matter of public record. It's really not that hard to connect the dots."   
"Why would he want to?"   
"Wouldn't you want to know your enemy?" Will snapped.  
Jack's frown deepened.  
"He killed this man for _you_ , Will. You don't kill for an enemy."   
"Maybe he just thinks I'm cute." Will said sarcastically, self-deprecation seeping into his voice.   
"Do you think this is funny?" Jack growled. "Because I don't. He _sees_ you. He did this for you."   
"He won't kill me." Will said, sobered by Jack's anger. "I'm too...interesting."   
"That's not what I'm worried about, Will."  
Silence. Jack stared at him, uncomfortable and contemplative. 

He finds Hannibal waiting for him in his classroom when Jack finally lets him go.   
"I hear you have an admirer."   
"Jack's pissed." Will said, slumping into his desk chair.   
"Perhaps 'worried' would be more accurate. I certainly am." Hannibal's eyes were soft, concerned.   
"Yeah, well..." Will trailed off.   
"Jack thinks you should stay with me for a while."   
"What? That's ridiculous. You're not...you're not going to babysit me." Will snapped.   
Hannibal smiled gently.  
"Certainly not, Will. No babysitting. But I find that Jack and I are in agreement - it would certainly make me feel better if you were with someone, in a place the Ripper is most likely unfamiliar with."   
Will sighed, his palms pressed to his face, eyes squeezed shut.   
"Fine. Fine, whatever. Can we grab some things from my house first."   
Hannibal shifted uncomfortably, gaze apologetic. Will stared at him.  
" _Seriously?_ "  
"This particular incident has disturbed Jack greatly." Hannibal said gravely.   
"How long?"   
"I believe a week will be more than enough to settle any lingering unease."   
Will scowled.   
"Well, I need to call my neighbor and ask her to feed the dogs. And someone seriously has to bring me clothes, what am I supposed to wear for a week?"   
"I am more than happy to make a trip out to Wolf Trap for you, Will. And if you like, I...could bring a dog as well." he offered reluctantly. He did not look excited at the prospect of having a loud, excited animal in his house.   
Will shook his head.   
"No, it's fine. You'll already have one animal in your house." he said flatly.   
"I'm sure you're a very well-behaved boy." Hannibal joked with a hint of a smirk. Will felt his face get hot and he looked away, burning. Hearing something like that directed at him...it reminded him of how long it had really been since he'd had sex. Hannibal was insanely attractive. Will had noticed, of course, but hadn't indulged in any fantasies - Hannibal radiated unattainability. He didn't want to let himself even think about it.  
Hannibal handed him a key.   
"Here. I will go to Wolf Trap and grab you some clothing. You may let yourself into my house whenever you're finished here."   
"Thanks." Will said, still embarrassed. Hannibal closed the door with a smile and _click_ as he left.

Hannibal's house was extremely nice. It made Will uncomfortable. Everything was elegant, purposeful - he was afraid to touch anything, honestly.   
The crime scene from earlier had left him feeling nauseous and gross; he'd wanted to take a shower as soon as he left.   
_Hannibal wouldn't mind if I showered._ he reassured himself, dragging himself tiredly up the stairs.   
Hannibal's shower was, as expected, just as nice as the rest of the house, and it was much nicer than Will's very mediocre one, which had questionable water pressure and sometimes ran rusty in the winter.   
The hot water and the steam was comforting, relaxing. He used Hannibal's fancy shampoo and conditioner, and his (Will snorted at this) green tea face scrub. But the soap and the water couldn't wash off the lingering nausea left by this morning's crime scene, by the Ripper's... _gift_. 

Hannibal found Will's house charming, though he couldn't say the same about the dogs. They were...friendly enough, but he'd never really understood the need for animal companionship.   
He couldn't deny that it was fun, going through Will's drawers and his closet, choosing outfits for him from his meagre selection of pants and his far too large collection of flannels, his sweaters and tweed blazers. He tested his knowledge of Will's wardrobe - these pants with that shirt, this sweater over that button-up, his favorite flannel, his favorite jeans. He neatly folded pants, shirts, blazers, sweaters, and underwear into one of Will's nicer suitcases, pausing for a moment after zipping it shut. Will would need his shot this week.   
Hannibal opened his medical cabinet, picking up the small bottle of testosterone, a single needle, and, after a moment of indecision, Will's half-empty bottle of aspirin. Anticipation bubbled up beneath his skin at the prospect of having Will in his home all week, of them being alone together at night, eating meals together, seeing Will flushed from the shower, bared to him, pale pink scars on display. He set Will's bag in the back seat of his Bentley, self-satisfied and smug. 

Will was standing in the kitchen, towel around his waist and water glass in hand when he heard the front door open. Hannibal appeared in the doorway not a moment later carrying one of Will's suitcases, face neutral. Will felt suddenly uncomfortable, standing in Hannibal's kitchen practically naked with his scars out in the open. He thought Hannibal would be longer.  
"I, uh. I thought you'd be longer."   
"The drive was pleasant. Very little traffic."   
"Your shower is nice." Will said dumbly.   
"I'm glad it was enjoyable." Hannibal set Will's suitcase down, amused. "Forgive me if this is inappropriate, but your surgeon did quite a wonderful job."   
Will flushed, looking away.  
"Uh, thanks."   
Hannibal stepped forward, hand raised slightly.   
"Do you mind? I'm not quite familiar with this particular surgery."   
Will shook his head wordlessly, eyes slightly widened. Hannibal ran his fingers gently along the smooth, straight scar that stretched across Will's upper abdomen.   
"When did you get surgery?"   
"When I was 21." Will said, slightly breathless.   
"It's healed very nicely." Hannibal murmured, examining the scar for a moment more before stepping back again.  
"If this is what 'keeping it professional' entails, I can't imagine what it would be like if we were friends." Will said dryly.   
Hannibal smiled slightly, huffing a silent laugh.   
"I will put your suitcase in your room. It's right across from mine."   
Hannibal thumped lightly up the stairs. Will stood in the kitchen, still in a towel. He set his water glass down and pressed a hand tightly over his mouth, his face finally flushing deep red in Hannibal's absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls comment i salivate over comments


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will spends his first night at Hannibal's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short chapter + creepy hannibal, who we all love

Dinner with Hannibal both was and wasn't exactly what Will had been expecting. The food was ridiculous - extravagant and delicious, on fancy plates and paired with a wine probably older than Will himself - but Hannibal was different than usual, more relaxed. He had taken off his suit jacket and tie and had rolled his sleeves up neatly, his strong, golden forearms on display.  
"Are you finished, Will?" Hannibal asked as he stood with his own small dessert plate in hand.  
"Um, yes. Thank you." Will handed him his plate, eyes averted.  
"Of course. I love to cook for friends." 

Will wandered into the kitchen a moment later, leaning up against the island to watch Hannibal rinse and dry their plates.  
Hannibal placed them both back in the cabinet above the sink before turning to Will.  
"I will be in the study for an hour or so. You are welcome to join me if you'd like."  
"I think I'm just going to go to bed." Will said lamely. "I'm tired."  
"In that case, I will see you in the morning. Good night, William."  
Will flushed at the use of his full name. His dad was the only one who ever really called him _William_. He should really call his dad. 

The guest room, which would serve as Will's room for the next week, was...well, beautiful. It was all dark mahogany and deep greens and blues, the furniture a perfect mix of cozy cabin-owner and outdoorsy forest-lover. It was perfect - almost suspiciously so. It was almost like...like Hannibal had designed it specifically for him.  
Will shook his head as he began unpacking his bags, loading clothes into the simple wooden dresser. That was ridiculous. Hannibal had only known him for maybe 3 months, and there's no way Hannibal would redesign a room in his _home_ because Will would be staying in it for a week. How would he have even had time? The Ripper's newest victim had been sudden, unexpected. Will looked around the room again, brow furrowed.  
_I guess we're more similar than I thought._

 _A knife to his throat. A tongue licks up the side of his face, slick and hot._  
_"William." something hisses, some vague, dark figure hovering over him, eyes glinting._  
_"Did you like my present, Will?"_  
_The knife pressed into his skin harder, dug in deeper. Will heard himself whimper fearfully, his breath quickening._  
_"Such a good boy for me." it taunted. "So well-behaved."_  
_"Wanted you ever since I saw you at that first crime scene, ever since I saw those little curls and that cute nose and that pretty little face."_  
_Teeth sank into the juncture between his neck and his collarbone, sharp and demanding. Will struggled, twisting and trying to pull himself free, panicked._  
_"You think I'd ever let something like you go?" it crooned. "Not a chance, honey. No fucking way."_  
_Something like you. Something. Something._

Will gasped awake, hand clutching his chest fearfully as he forced himself to breathe, in and out. His skin fucking crawled, itched, _ached_ , nausea pooling in his stomach. He needed to feel something that wasn't this. Anything that wasn't this. Anything. 

His blood looked so bright on the floor of Hannibal's shower. He hadn't wanted to get anything on the nicer tile in the bathroom; the shower seemed like his best bet. His calf was pouring blood, gaping open horribly with other, shallower cuts clustered around it. He felt calmer. The familiar tugging of the dull razor and the resulting sting was comforting, the numbness that came with the sudden burst of adrenaline welcomed and appreciated. He breathed steadily, watching red run down his ankle and swirl down the drain. Standing was starting to hurt. He slid down the wall, groaning at the pain that shot up his leg, brow knit together and eyes squeezed shut. Fuck. Will let himself sit for a moment before standing slowly and turning the shower off. He stumbled out, trying to avoid getting blood on the floor, and wrapped toilet paper around his hand before pressing it to his calf shakily, putting pressure on the deepest cut. Water dripped into his eyes and he wiped his face with a hand, frustrated and impatient. Hannibal had to have medical supplies in his bathroom, right?  
Will pawed through the drawers for a minute before finally stumbling across a few rolls of thick gauze and medical tape, stacked neatly. 

Will stood in Hannibal's kitchen, steaming mug held tightly. He hoped Hannibal wouldn't mind him drinking his tea. He felt steadier now, with his leg wrapped up and aching dully, an anchor of his own making.  
"Will? Trouble sleeping?" Hannibal's smooth, gentle voice floated into the kitchen.  
Will turned guiltily.  
"Uh, yeah. Just, y'know...bad dreams."  
Hannibal took a seat across from him, eyes bright and concerned.  
"I think I dreamt about the Ripper." Will said, voice low. "About him...uh, _wanting_ me."  
"Do you believe that he desires you sexually?"  
"Jesus, I don't know. He's definitely done some research on me, maybe even stalked me. He killed a man for me, because he thought I wanted him dead. What am I supposed to make of that?"  
"Did you?"  
Will squinted at him.  
"Did I what?"  
"Did you want him dead? It would be only natural, after seeing what he did to all those innocent women." Hannibal watched him carefully.  
Will sighed, looking away and running a hand through his hair.  
"I mean, I...wasn't saddened by his death. It felt..." Will paused, eyes darkening. "It felt like he deserved it."  
"Perhaps he did."  
It was quiet for a moment.  
"Forgive me, Will, but I must confess that I can smell blood on you. Have you cared for your wounds adequately?"  
Will scowled, face flushing. Fuck, this was embarrassing. Hannibal knew that he'd had a breakdown and cut himself like a 15 year old _girl_ , could _smell_ it on him.  
"They're fine." Will snapped.  
"I'm afraid I must insist that you let me make sure."  
Hannibal felt his heart beat marginally faster at the idea of seeing what Will had done to himself, at the thought of being so close to Will's bleeding and scarred leg, his face no doubt flushed with embarrassment while Hannibal cleaned his cuts gently, thumb rubbing circles into his ankle.  
"Seriously?"  
"The smell is quite strong. I fear you may require stitches."  
The idea of stitching Will up - of leaving a neat row of them in him, of Hannibal being the reason he healed - excited him even further. He hoped Will needed stitches.  
Will stared him down, frowning deeply.  
"I'm afraid I must insist, William." Hannibal said apologetically. "I did promise Jack that you would come to no harm under my care."  
"Fine." Will said, angry and stiff. Hannibal left, coming back moments later with a small black medical briefcase and sitting beside Will.  
"Rest your leg on my knee, please."  
Will set his ankle on Hannibal's firm leg, averting his gaze as Hannibal rolled up his pajama pants and unwrapped the gauze.  
"Oh, William." Hannibal said softly, staring at the deep gash torn into his calf. "Let's clean this up, hm?"  
Will flushed at Hannibal's borderline condescending tone. He felt like some sort of pet, like a particularly troublesome dog. Hannibal wiped the clotted blood off of his leg gently, careful not to agitate the cuts further.  
"I don't think it requires stitches." Hannibal lied. It really should have been stitched up - he had been planning to, but the thought of Will having such a lovely purple scar on his leg was far more exciting. He re-wrapped his leg tightly in fresh gauze, thumb rubbing soft circles into Will's ankle for a moment once he finished.  
"I must ask that you not harm yourself again while under my roof, Will." Hannibal said, hand firm on his ankle.  
"I'm sorry." Will whispered, staring at the ground.  
"If you feel that you cannot trust yourself, I would like you to know that you can always trust me. Always."  
Will squirmed uncomfortably under the intensity of Hannibal's gaze, biting the inside of his cheek to soothe the nervousness bubbling up beneath his skin.  
"Alright." Will said.  
Hannibal looked like he wanted to say something else.  
"What?" Will finally said, staring at him expectantly.  
"I just - I find you to be very incredible, Will. It hurts me to see you in such pain. I am always here for you." Hannibal leaned forward, sliding his hand up Will's thigh. "In any way you wish for me to be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment pls i respond to all of them and i love getting them!!! i also just started a new tumblr and i take prompts/requests for almost any fandom!!! the nastier and sadder, the better. i do nsfw too. basically ill do anything even if its gross as fuck.  
> tumblr: myfavsaretrans

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed ive never written hannibal fanfiction before bcs hannibal has intimidating dialogue lmaoooo but listen i was like i cant fucking find the trans will graham im looking for so i finally buckled down and wrote him myself. yes there will be murder and shit but listen this chapter wasnt about that akjkdfskjdfhjkdhfj


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